III
"searching"
ANNABETH
THE darkness of the hallways taunted her, but it wasn't until Hazel responded that the faux-brunette was able to pull her gaze away from the chilling, shaded visage of mystery that lay beyond the doors to the holding room. Its sole promise was danger, and that fact alone was enough to regret her decision to look for Piper.
"I'll figure something out." Hazel's voice triggered her turn. She angled her head just in time to see solemnity growing within the dark-skinned girl's golden pools as she nodded.
Annabeth hummed, acknowledging her response, and swiveled to eye the soldiers once more. Three of them had been added to the mix, raising the number of Triesstine guards in the echoing chamber to five. Only two stayed by the doors, but even so, slipping past them would prove to be a difficult task since one of the prisoners had already escaped. Then, dragging the tail of her braid over the curve of her neck, the faux brunette cast another glance at the younger girl near her. "You have to. Or else, Piper's..." she trailed off, unable to bring herself to say anymore.
The weight of her unspoken words pressed against her lungs.
Hazel nodded again and chewed on her bottom lip while murmuring out a passionate "I know." Her auric-laced gaze fell to the entrance. It fell to the growing number of soldiers that now began to line the walls, their blue and green eyes that ranged in all shades, scanning them with antipathy and prejudice through piercing glares. It fell to the evident alarm that curled around the room.
It fell to Annabeth.
And then her steady exhales gave way to broken shudders as she swallowed and tucked a coiling lock of black hair back into place. "I know."
The faux brunette couldn't find it within herself to muster up another response, so they sat in near silence afterward, allowing their presence to be fully submerged by the overbearing guards in the room. Thankfully, none of the armed men had yet ventured into their corner of the holding chamber, but that was only a small factor to be grateful for in the mess that Piper had created.
Annabeth tried not to harbor any malice toward the spirited Algreni girl. Indeed, she did. But then her thoughts traveled back to the situation at hand and the emotions that swirled in the depths of her stomach strengthened, consequently waning any possibility of that happening. She could feel the fear in the air crawling across her skin, could taste the resentment that the majority of the soldiers held against the prisoners—all due to the fact that they were foreign conquests. With each hardened scowl and flick of a sword that would be aimed at an unsuspecting girl, the faux brunette found herself swallowing down a dark grimace.
They were prisoners of war in a militarily-advanced nation. They were hated by its citizens. Powerless against its soldiers.
Completely at their mercy.
How could have Piper been so foolish? Wasn't she aware of the steep consequences that her actions entailed? Did she not contain a single drop of forethought in that perpetual-battle-ready body of hers?
And now, she was to put her life on the line in order to search for her. She, Annabeth of House Karstagne, the sole person in the entire room who had more at stake than anyone. Her expression hardened at the thought. A single step in the wrong direction put her life at risk. A single wrong turn could determine her fate.
No one would bother to check if she was important or not. After all, why would they?
They all viewed her as Asteria, the poor Algreni girl who had been unfortunate enough to be chosen as a prisoner. With her dyed-burnish-toned hair, no one would even think to assume that she was the last living heir to the Seat of Stone.
And this risk was all Piper's f-
A cold hand pressed against her forearm, halting her petulant thoughts. Annabeth angled her line of sight to see Hazel staring into her face, silver meeting gold. "Don't be angry at her, Asteria," she pleaded.
The faux brunette inched away from her golden-eyed companion's touch, biting back a grimace. She forced her tone to lose any inflection of emotion when she responded. "I'm trying not to." Then, after a weighted sigh, "I'm also failing pitifully."
"It's not her fault, you know," Hazel whispered. A canine sank into her pillowy lower lip as she fiddled with the hem of her skirt, the navy fabric clinging to her upper thighs when she moved to sit on her haunches.
Annabeth resisted tugging an eyebrow upwards and glanced away. The resentment in her chest solidified and swelled to the size of a plum from the Storm Lands. "It's completely her fault, Hazel." Half-concealed furious incredulity laced her words. She couldn't bother to mollify the severity of the situation—not when lines of succession were at stake. She motioned harshly at the flock of soldiers that eyed them like criminals. "If she had shown an ounce of restraint—" The faux brunette sucked in a sharp breath and cleared her throat.
Hazel's done nothing wrong, she reminded herself. Don't take it out on her.
She glared at the high-arching ceiling above, mending the intent behind her sentence. "She needs to control herself."
"And I agree with you."
Hazel's response jolted a sliver of bewilderment and surprise in Annabeth's heart. But she didn't remove her focus from the canopy of ironstone that stared back at her. Sometimes she yearned to be as emotionless as the rock was, it would make life so much easier. If she were ironstone, she wouldn't have to concern herself with the cesspools of politics or the royal lines of succession.
"I've known Piper for a long time, almost three years now." When her traveling companion continued to speak, Annabeth allowed her attention to fall back to her. Hazel picked at the large shackle around her ankle while she pressed on. "In all the time that I've known her, she's always been fiery. She isn't one to lie around complacently and accept any anger that's aimed at her. Which is admirable."
No, it's unwise, Annabeth wanted to say. But she knew that this wasn't the time for counterarguments, so she swallowed it down and let her continue. She'd learned to choose her battles, and this wasn't one of them.
She held back a smirk at the realization that her mother would have applauded her for her restraint.
Hazel let loose another shuddering breath before resuming her tangent. "I wasn't surprised that she got into another fight. The other girl must have provoked her in some way—"
The faux brunette felt herself frown. "You say that as if it takes much to provoke her." An uneasy pause, hollowing the space between them with deafening silence, followed in pursuit of her words. "Am I wrong in my judgment?"
"Only halfly." The girl beside her didn't look up from her shackles. "But I was going off course anyways. What I meant to say is that Piper hates how short-tempered she is. I've seen it. I've endured it. And... I've seen that she despises how easily anger comes to her, how quickly she finds herself in another fight. I'm not saying that running away or getting into a fight with the other prisoner in the first place was okay, or that it's alright by me... because it's not."
She looked up then, the emotion in her eyes highlighted by a glare caused by a thin sheen of tears meeting light. It was clear to Annabeth that Hazel only wished to make her side comprehensive. "She ran away so she wouldn't have to face anyone else in the aftermath." Then, looking back to the floor and with a shrug, "It's what she does."
Silence.
It swelled between them for a half minute.
The faux brunette battled for an appropriate response, scouring her vocabulary and her experience in trained-diplomacy to find the correct words to address Hazel's message. But she found none. None that would do the situation justice, anyway.
So, it was only ice that churned beneath Annabeth's skin when she answered, bathing her words detached. "Just... figure out a way to distract the guards."
Now wasn't the time to be sentimental, nor was it the time to analyze why Piper did the things that she did. There were more pressing matters at hand. She had to focus on the fact that she had to find Piper in a building she'd never been in before, not get caught, and find her way back undetected.
The faux brunette watched as Hazel's eyes fluttered closed and her expression crumbled. It was apparent that the older of the pair hadn't reacted in the way that she had wanted. Hazel didn't bring herself to make any other conversation after that. She kept to her own, picking at the cast-iron shackles that bit into her Achilles tendon while flexing and unflexing her toes.
Annabeth turned away and gulped down the lump that had entered her throat. The pit in her stomach waxed, enlarging to the size of a Western orange.
She couldn't get sentimental now.
Idealism held no merit in terms of reality. Her father had taught her that for years, but it wasn't until the day that she was forced to leave her home that she acknowledged the valid weight of his proverb. And it was again at this moment that she found herself appreciating her father's wisdom, wishing that she had been more receptive of it when she still was able to.
Annabeth leaned into the wall and turned to stare at the ceiling, peering into the stones that arched overhead as if they would give her the answers that she needed. She tugged on the end of her plait, deep in thought. Time passed, each tense second crawling by at the speed of hours. The answers she sought did not come, unsurprisingly. She was seconds away from cursing in frustration when a bitter voice stopped the words from crawling out of her throat.
"I've seen you two with that bitch before. How about you control your friend?"
Annabeth halted her lips from forming into a taut frown and instead dragged her gaze toward her right. Her attention fell on a trio of prisoners, all with the signature strange-colored eyes of Algren and varying shades of dusty brown hair. The one in front had her head cocked to the side as she studied the faux brunette and the dark-skinned girl with menace littering her expression.
"She's not my friend," Annabeth answered with a manner of plainness. Through her peripheral vision, Hazel's shoulders tensed visibly with a flinch. The smallest tinge of guilt fluttered in the pits of her gut, which she ignored. It was the truth, after all. Disregarding the fact that she was to risk her life for the girl before the moon rose, Piper was not a friend of hers.
Karstagnes did not befriend the unwise.
The opposing prisoner rolled her eyes and advanced, her upper lip twitching with acerbity. "I don't care if she's your friend or not—"
Annabeth cut her off then, sitting up against the wall and wincing as her shackles scraped against her still-tender bruises. She then leveled a cold look at the trio of young women in front of her. "If you don't care, then why are you here, exactly? Are you trying to get us all flogged?" The wound on her tongue smarted and suddenly her mouth tasted like iron. But she pressed on, her innate hubris strumming her words. "Don't be foolish."
The prisoner towards the back of the group, with unearthly bright violet irises and stained mahogany hair, narrowed her eyes in response. "We're all going to get flogged anyways thanks to that friend of yours. Don't see how it could get any worse from here."
The faux brunette found herself humming in response, already deciding that she had neither enough energy nor care to continue the conversation. They were fools, and the pride that filmed the undertones of her every decision withheld her from speaking any more.
A bittersweet notion bubbled to the surface of her conscious. Mal would be proud of her.
Even still, her refusal to entertain them clearly spurred anger. The third girl who hadn't yet spoken up moved forward. Annabeth cast her a bored glance, her gaze flickering over her light blue robes and threaded spill of hair a shade burnished, and resumed her focus, fixating her thunder-stained irises on the sweeping ceilings overhead. Another vitriolic set of words ghosted past her ears as the girl began to spout off warnings and orders to keep "that Algreni girl" in check.
Annabeth had to force herself to pay attention to their void threats and fruitless intimidations. She moved to whisper something to Hazel, keeping her focus lit upon the ceiling. But she was met with interruption, leaving the words to perish on the surface of her poised tongue.
"Separate yourselves." A simple command blocked the assaulting trio from continuing further.
The faux brunette bristled at the baritone of the voice, realizing without straying her eyes from the ironstone canopy that they had caught the attention of a soldier. She pushed her chin into her sternum unwittingly but thanked her muscle memory for pursuing the action in her logic's stead. The wind that the action caused churned ice against her now-clammy skin.
She tucked her scowl into the navy fabric of her thin top. Those fools. Why couldn't they leave well enough alone? How dense could someone be? The indiscretion of the three Algrenis had inevitably proved to be a catalyst for retribution, and now they were all to pay the price for their idiocy.
Her back stung in anticipation of punishment as the trio of prisoners whimpered away, lowering their heads in the presence of the soldier. They attempted to fade into the shadows but failed in all forms of the term.
The soldier moved closer, and Annabeth found herself sinking her teeth into the flesh of her inner lip when his sandaled foot struck Hazel's sides. The younger girl gasped in a lucid manner, flinching away from the aggressive motion. Her shoulder slammed into the floors with a sickening crunch. Annabeth's senses chilled numb at the sound, her emotions already steeling themselves.
The soldier's sneer filtered into his words as he leaned over Hazel's hunched form. His dirt-stained soles began to line the curve of her hip, malice deepening the edge in his voice. "What's the meaning of this?"
The dark-skinned girl didn't respond. Instead, she remained curled up against the stones of the floor, attempting to catch her breath. Her exhales and inhales shuddered in her chest, and Annabeth watched, stilled and desensitized, as his foot moved from Hazel's waistline to her uninjured shoulder. The younger girl's vocal cords vibrated with a restrained whine when pressure was applied.
The soldier leaned down, wrapping a fist around her thick plait, and dragged her head upwards. "Prisoners are to respond when spoken to, yeah? Answer me."
Annabeth recognized the Gaelish accent—albeit smothered by the fresher Triesstine one—for what it was. It was clear that he had spent some time in the Storm Lands, giving truth to his evident prejudices that were only strengthened by his affiliation with Triton's Hold. Her emotions made their reappearance at full force, hatred smoldering beneath her bruised skin at this realization.
How antithetical was it that the most brutish of all the civilized peoples, that the men and women who had the least reason to be proud of their heritage and social stature, turned out to be the vainest and most empathically perverse?
How could it be that these Triesstine barbarians had the audacity to treat Algreni prisoners with such contempt for reasons none other than the fact that they were incarcerated foreigners? She had barely just arrived in Triesso, and already, her parents' teachings of the sea salt-ridden nation rang with truth.
She hated them. She hated Southroners. She hated them all, wanted to watch them succumb to the flames of the Hearth or drown in the bitter ice of the Winter.
And then, with a jolt, Annabeth forced herself to clear the thoughts from her head. The evidence of her reflections had begun to make themselves clear across her expression, which was dangerous alone. But even otherwise, now wasn't the time to pour her attention toward justified anger. There were more pressing problems at hand. She refocused on the situation, untangling her lips from their poised scowl and setting her brows into a neutral line.
Hazel's face was no longer in the faux brunette's line of sight, but the notes of her words were still very much decipherable. The younger girl exhaled slowly before answering. "The girls were bothering us. They-
"-Look at me."
Her words faltered, a long pause spinning silence into near tangible strands as Hazel undoubtedly angled her head to look into the guard's face. "They... wouldn't leave us alone," she continued.
"Is that so?" was his grunt. The soldier released her, leaving Hazel to drop to the ground as if she were a trivial sack of peasant's rice. But before he could advance on the trio of prisoners who were steadily inching away from the situation, another guard approached the group, his sandals slapping against the sleek ironstone floors.
This time, Annabeth could not withhold the unadulterated alarm that took root in the depths of her heart, convulsing her veins and tossing her blood into a mixture of confusion and apprehension.
Why were so many of the soldiers drawn to the circumstance, to her? Did they already know of her truth? Were they waiting to see her yield to the subtle stress? Her jaw ticked as she focused her gaze more intently on the smooth rock that comprised the floor.
Contain yourself, she mentally hissed.
The guard stopped close enough for Annabeth to feel the warmth of his presence, and it took entirely too much effort for her to refrain from coiling away in disgust. But she forced herself to do so. The faux brunette had no intentions of being punished anytime soon, and carefully planned all of her movements accordingly.
"Dathan, what is the meaning of this?" The phrase was plain and authoritative, but boredom divulged the emotion behind it, tainting the words primitive and nonchalant. "We're supposed to be watching them, not... whatever in the name of Aegeon you're doing."
Dathan released a heavy groan and stepped further away from the trio of prisoners, allowing them to make their escape. From what she was able to interpret through the slivers of sight that her submissive position allowed, Annabeth saw that his body language was synonymous with a predator cheated out of a meal. The notion alone brought goosebumps to her skin.
"Must you remove the fun from everything, Jorah?" His words trilled venom.
The second guard's response was cold. "If it means that I do what I'm ordered, then yes. Unless, you want to report to the Heir Apparent upon his return the reasons behind your disobedience. If that's the case, then the pleasure is all yours."
Dathan growled but didn't respond immediately. Instead, his foot moved to Hazel's sides once more, eliciting a sharp tug of breath from her lungs as his toes dug into the cavity beneath her ribcage. His hunger seemed satiated with this reaction, a squalid chuckle seeping from his chest when he addressed Jorah. "The Heir isn't due back in Triesso for another two weeks. Don't try to use his name to scare me off." A stagnant hesitation before, "We were told to make sure that another fight didn't break out between the prisoners. And it looked to me that another fight was brewing. I only decided to extinguish it before it could grow." The tenor of his speech bordered on snark when he continued. "Surely, you cannot criticize me for attempting to do what was right."
Jorah grunted, as if readily deciding that he had better things to do. His words gave truth to that as he continued. "I don't know why I've bothered to entertain this conversation. The Baroness wants to speak with these two: I was charged with retrieving them. Go away, Dathan."
Annabeth's blood lowered to glacial temperatures at the sound of that. A woman, clearly of high stature, wanted to speak to her and Hazel. She hadn't yet been in Triton's Hold for six hours and already she was an object of attention. The faux-brunette gulped down her alarm, feeling the pit in her stomach bulge to the tonnage of Castradian shrubbery.
"It's clear that our last duel has left you bitter, Jorah. But don't worry," Dathan taunted but began to move away nonetheless. "Once the Darksnake returns from the Tribes and reinstates the training sessions, I'll be sure to come find you. And then I can finish you off yet again." The soldier's callous laugh echoed in the empty cavity of Annabeth's chest when he finally drew back and disappeared into the crowd of prisoners in the holding chamber.
Jorah muttered expletives in the Ancient Tongue under his breath, his hand falling to the hilt of his longsword for a moment before he shook off his irritation. Then, he reached down to yank on the chains stemming from their shackles. "Get up." His words were concise and to the point. "The Baroness does not like to be kept waiting."
They both stood, although Hazel's motions were a bit more sluggish compared to Annabeth's. The faux-brunette tried to keep the tremors of anxiety from making themselves known in her stance, but couldn't fight her shaky steps. She kept her gaze trained on the floor and swallowed down her disquiet as best as she could.
Then they were led from the holding chamber- shackles against shackles, chains to chains. And as they passed from tenuous familiarity into the murkiness of the unknown, Annabeth found herself muttering silent prayers to the Nine Mothers—hoping and begging that she'd live to see the day's sunset.
Blest muses, Mothers of the Mount, protect me now in these hours of darkness.
Ω
"I ought to have you drowned, drawn, and quartered for making me wait so long."
Jorah's response echoed submission and reticence. "Forgive me, milady. I was distracted by—" He paused to clear his words, as if mending his sentence before it could sprout from his tongue. "I was compromised by another soldier."
The Baroness hummed, barely acknowledging his response. Her words were terse. "As always. You can wait outside, Jorah."
"Of course, milady."
Annabeth's neck ached, but she didn't dare lift her head. She had recognized the woman's voice the moment the first syllable drew from her lips. The Baroness and 'Milady' were one and the same. And as such, the faux brunette had to tread with care, for the noblewoman that sat behind the desk before her viewed her as scum.
And she had no doubt that she would treat them accordingly.
The harsh sound of Jorah's sandals slapping against the polished stones as he took his exit throttled in Annabeth's chest. A door was opened and closed, leaving the two prisoners at the unchallenged mercy of the woman who was assumedly in charge of them. A woman who despised them.
Humidity clung to the air of the small room, bathing Annabeth's skin in tension-born sweat. Her still-fading bruises throbbed beneath the rigid grip of her shackles. The oscillating drum of her pulse tremored in her ears, the steady beat heralding the fear that contradicted her emotionless expression. But even so, Athena's words rang in her mind. Have no fear, little Silver. But to be cautious is to be wise. Annabeth managed to keep that snippet of wisdom on repeat at the forefront of her conscience. And as she kept her focus glazed upon the floors, the proverb became a mantra that provided comfort.
You are Annabeth Karstagne; here for a reason, she reminded herself. Eplonia awaits.
Silence swelled between them all, and by the sound of the easy breaths that puffed from the Baroness's lips, it was obvious that she reveled in making the two young women before her squirm. Minutes passed before she spoke. "Look at me." Her order left little room for argument or hesitation.
Annabeth lifted her chin automatically, her gaze falling to vertical swaths of melanoid hair and pair of acrimonious eyes that were equally as dark- literally and figuratively. The noblewoman's lip tugged upwards in reproach as she scanned their attire, her pale skin flushing a light shade of pink before she cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes. "I've seen the both of you with that disgrace of a girl before," she began.
Hazel's joints locked immediately, her body tensing. Annabeth remained stilled and emotionless. She had no reason to react, after all. The woman's words came at no shock to her. Of course the Baroness would have known that Piper spent her time around Hazel and her: nearly everyone knew so, it seemed.
Upon this, the Baroness angled a deeper look at the dark-skinned girl, her features gaining a venomous edge. "I realize that this transition may be difficult for Algreni simpletons such as yourselves. However," she paused to lean back, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in the skirt of her beryl-shaded dress. "In the rare case that you find yourselves unable to comprehend it, allow me to make clear to you that such behavior will not be tolerated here in Triesso, let alone the stronghold of Aegeon's Chosen." Her words rumbled with acerbity. "You have only the gods and Lady Vene to thank for mercy—"
Hazel's voice rumbled out softly, cutting the woman's message short. "M-milady?"
Annabeth clenched her jaw, fearing for her traveling companion. No, she wanted to shout with indignance. Why would you do such a thing?
As if by reflex, the Baroness stood and reached over the desk, her hand outstretched. The fulsome sound of her palm striking the younger girl's cheek followed moments later. The faux-brunette could do nothing but keep her gaze locked on the stoned walls before her as Hazel's haunting outcry curled around her ears. Through her peripheral vision, she saw her fellow prisoner lower her head and bite her lip while clutching the right side of her face.
The noblewoman resumed her former position. "Prisoners are not to speak unless spoken to," she spat bitterly. Then a pause before, "Look at me." Hazel shakily lifted her head and the Baroness grinned in a manner that reeked of smugness. "It would do you good to remember that, yes?"
The younger girl did not respond.
The Baroness, undeterred, then continued to straighten out her clothing before pressing on. "As I was saying: you have only the gods, and especially Lady Vene to thank for mercy. For if the decision fell to me," a pause with malicious intent. "I would have had that whore's back flogged to the bone and her head shaven."
Annabeth's blood ran cold. She had been raised in Eplonia, and as such, the halls of her home were often laden with rumors and tales of the cruelty of Triesstine punishments. They were said to have rivaled those of the Espar States in terms of brutality, but it was not until now that she recognized the validity behind those statements. They were going to whip Piper to near death for escaping.
It took much longer than acceptable for that fact to sink in.
The Baroness's tone darkened. "I knew that giving you the privilege of bathing would have sent the wrong impression, that some of you would come to believe that you were equals. But Lady Vene insisted. And now I have this mess to deal with." She shook her head before continuing. "That excuse of a girl's disgraceful actions has cost her the protection of Triesso. She has declared herself an enemy of the High Lord, the High Lady, and the Heir Apparent. But... I've been told to offer leniency on the part of those affiliated with the wench. So, I must ask, do you do the same as she?"
Their responses were in unison; Hazel's was shaky, Annabeth's was cold. "No, milady."
She hummed as if amused, before standing abruptly. The woman stalked around her desk, her hands clasped neatly before her and her head held high. As she drew closer, the hairs on the back of Annabeth's neck rose. It wasn't long until the Baroness came to rest just behind her, her vicious gaze focused on her left profile. "You seem to be a cold one, hm?" The timbre of her saccharine words caressed her skin in the same manner a sea snake would gently curl around its prey before tightening in pursuit of murder.
Annabeth's response was diplomatic. She had been trained for situations like this. "It may appear so, milady."
The Baroness laughed, the sound piercing the faux-brunette's chest like frost on the morning of the First Snow, before she drew away. "Jorah will escort you to the cells to visit the whore. By Aegeon's honor and Idylla's grace will you make clear to her that her actions were deplorable and disgraceful. However, it is certain that she is well aware of it now." There was a nearly undecipherable promise of treachery underlying her words.
The hollowed pit of Annabeth's sternum ran over with frost as she registered the woman's words. They had already caught Piper. Meaning... she would have left the holding chamber in pursuit of an escapee already compromised, which would have done nothing but sealed her own fate. Despite the fact that her feet ached and her bruises threatened to worsen, the faux brunette was suddenly grateful that the Baroness had demanded an audience with her and Hazel.
She didn't want to think of the horrid events that might have occurred if otherwise.
The noblewoman walked over to Hazel, then. Her thin fingers gripped the girl's chin, bringing their eyes to the same level. "And as for you... know your place." A sharp pause. "Iasni wench."
Iasni?
Annabeth couldn't keep her eyes from cutting over to her traveling companion. Was Hazel not Algreni by birth? She studied her, taking in the sight of her dark brown skin and coiled black hair that gleamed and rose into the air like a gentle cloud. It was true that Hazel could easily pass as a girl born of Asnia—the wealthy ore-mining country of the Iasni Valley—but to go as far as to claim her as one of its citizens? The Iasni were notorious for neutrality, for keeping to themselves—more so than the desertfolk of Algren. Seeing anyone born of the Valley anywhere else was rarer than seeing a Northerner south of the mountains. Annabeth waited for the younger girl to glance down in denial of the accusation.
But clearly Hazel had other plans. She was tense but nodded, not even addressing the allegation brought upon her. Wise.
The Baroness released her chin with another hum, the frequency bathing the room in an acerbic vibe. "Very well." The woman returned to her desk and shifted her voice, aiming it at the door. "Jorah!"
Not even five seconds passed before the entrance to the office was opening, allowing a flood of fresh air (or as fresh as air could be by the sea, anyways) to seep into the room. Annabeth's chin returned to its regular state, pressed to her chest. The deep baritone of Jorah's words did nothing to comfort her in spite of the fact that she was finally leaving the Baroness's presence.
"Yes, milady?"
A flick of a wrist in Annabeth's direction. "Bring her to the cells in order to see the Algreni whore. Do not permit them to speak to one another. And when you deem fit, have the chained one brought back to the holding chambers. It's nearly mealtime and Lady Vene had me swear by the moon that I would have them all back in time to eat, Idylla bless her soul."
"Idylla bless her soul," was his void echo. After a quiet stretch of wordless moments, the guard then angled his body towards Hazel. "And as for this one, milady?"
"I'll have Marinius fetch her and return her to the rest of the prisoners. Do as you're told."
A stiff bow. "Of course, milady."
Jorah then mirrored his past movements, wrapping his hand around the thick chains that sprouted from Annabeth's shackles. He roughly tugged on them, jerking her forward and causing her to stumble. The faux brunette sucked in a sharp intake of air through her nostrils, eliciting a fearful glance from Hazel but nothing more. It took every sliver of repressed pride within the Eplonian princess to refrain from defending herself. She kept her head slack against her chest and followed the soldier into the dark halls.
Ω
In spite of it all, the dimly lit corridors of Triton's Hold rang with more beauty than she had previously deemed worthy of giving credit for. And as such, Annabeth utilized the onslaught of this shock to distract her from the waves of pain that shot through her body with each step. The soles of her feet were nearly raw—red and sore—and the aching bruises shaded violet that littered her pale ankles did not lessen the irritation she felt either.
But the decision came down between allowing her emotions to run rampant in light of the cards she had been dealt, or rather ignore said emotions and focus on the abalone walls that ensnared both her attention and freedom. The iridescent walls of her cage glowed with a muted shine, its beauty misleading and alluring with deceit. And as much as she wished not to, the fourteen-year-old child that dwelled, hidden, within the depths of her heart forced her to appreciate it all.
Jorah stalked silently ahead, his grip on her chains refusing to lighten. Instead, with every sharp turn and harsh tug, Annabeth found herself being drawn closer and closer to his body- as if he were pulling her nearer. Bile churned in her gut at the thought, forcing her to shed the notion from her mind before her stomach rejected the little food she had eaten in the past two days.
Her gaze traveled from the abalone walls to the smooth, ironstone floors. Silver eyes lifted to the sight of the heaving ceilings that rose overhead, her attention sliding back and forth between murals and sculptures of Triesstine deities and depictions of the country's history.
The only one she recognized was that of Triton the Conqueror, the man after which the Hold was named and founder of Neptune's Dynasty in the South. If her childhood lessons were true and were to be believed, Triton was the first King of Three, having united a trio of warring nations beneath his strength.
Annabeth could not in good conscience deny the honest fact that the sights were breathtaking. Truly, they were. But even she could recognize the simple truth that was shame of it being the products of Triesstine barbarians.
"I would keep my head down if I were you." Jorah's clipped tone broke through her trance of appreciation and critique.
Annabeth shoved her chin against her sternum without another thought, feeling the unmistakable heat that stemmed from embarrassment rising in her face. The rims of her ears flushed a furious shade of crimson. She scolded herself. How dare she forget? With a flair of gratefulness, Annabeth registered how fortunate she had been to be able to study the architecture while her and Jorah were alone.
The guard tugged her closer as they rounded another corner. He pressed on. "People like Marinius—whether they are nobility, staff, or soldier—are all over the place. This is their home. If they were to see an Algreni slave with her eyes cast upwards, criticizing the pride of their art... it wouldn't be a charming sight- lesser for you than for me. In their own view, it would give them even more reason to treat you how they wish to."
He didn't elucidate who Marinius was exactly, but the intuition that had saved her from the hands of the Traitor's Coup now told her that the solider with the whip and Marinius were one and the same. Annabeth pushed the climbing growl that threatened to spew from behind her clenched teeth and resumed her stare, angling it towards her bare feet and the stone floors. She cursed herself for not keeping better awareness of her surroundings.
Silence fell between them again, and the faux brunette could not withhold her curiosity from displaying itself across her countenance. Why had Jorah warned her? She scoured his body language, his past movements, anything, for an answer, but could not find one. From what she had seen previously, he wasn't attracted to her or Hazel, nor did he seem to be an Algreni sympathizer.
The next thought that scattered across the forefront of her mind chilled her senses, spinning them towards glacial temperatures. Was he aware of her secret? Was he secretly loyal to the Eplonian throne? Another treacherous notion fluttered into being. Was he a Traitor's Spy?
Alarm culminated within her as her thoughts escaped rationality and instead ran rampant, spreading austere chaos across the curves and indentations of her mind. Annabeth became so lost in herself- fear had gripped her so tightly- that it was as if reality was an unfamiliar microcosm when she was finally pulled back to it. Jorah dragged her timid steps to an inclement pause as a loud horn spread over the thin air. Annabeth didn't fail to notice his knuckles churning white as his grip tightened around her chains.
The horn sounded again, a heavy hum that shook the walls with its ominous composition. The vibrations rumbled in her bones. The guard before her swore under his breath as he abruptly turned, hauling her in the opposite direction, back towards the holding chambers. This fact alone, that he was disobeying strict orders from the Baroness herself, brought her to question just what the weighted sound meant.
And as Annabeth was dragged back to where she came, barely able to keep up with the soldier responsible for her, apprehension once again struck her heart. She could not help but wonder what the horn meant for Jorah, who seemed to be wary- if not fearful- of it, but more importantly- what it meant for her.
next chapter, the meaning behind the horn is revealed, the trio makes a new friend, and annabeth learns about the heir apparent. see you next saturday!
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